


i’ve nowhere to be (other than right next to you)

by lafgl



Series: fragile heart [18]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, F/F, Female Percy Jackson, Genderbending, Light Bondage, Mild Smut, NOT AS BAD AS IT SOUNDS I SWEAR, Smut, don’t SUE me, it’s about the EMOTIONS, put me in it, shame corner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:40:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23151103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafgl/pseuds/lafgl
Summary: tumblr prompt: fem percabeth college smut--sigh... aight
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson
Series: fragile heart [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1553368
Comments: 9
Kudos: 77





	i’ve nowhere to be (other than right next to you)

**Author's Note:**

> to whomstever asked me for smut on anon on tumblr:
> 
> 1\. you are a coward; sHOW YOURSELF  
> 2\. but also: i see you. here.
> 
> why is this 6000 words?  
> vague shrugging ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**if you need me  
you can find me**  
**giving anything, anything  
** **but up on you**

**you've got me ..//.. the greeting committee**

* * *

Annabeth sighs, the knock at her door causing her to lose her train of thought. She saves the document, and gets up, ready to scold her roommate for interrupting her essay.

“Hi.” Percy's voice goes straight through to her heart.

She wraps Percy in a hug without a second thought, “I thought you weren't coming.”

She rattles off an explanation, “I didn't think I could, but I had a really bad day yesterday — and I was really missing you, and… and thinking about you, and worrying you were feeling worse, so I…” She takes a second to compose herself, breathing deeply and letting Annabeth speak. 

“How did you get here so quick?”

“It's all a mess, honestly,” she laughs, trying to make light of it before launching back into her torrent of words, “but somehow I ended up in the airport buying a ticket for the first flight here.”

“You _flew?_ On a _plane_?” Annabeth pulls back to look at her, bewildered.

“I needed to see you.” Percy holds onto her carefully, like she could disappear at any moment. She’s sincere, eyes locked on Annabeth’s.

“You didn't have to do that.”

“I promised.” Percy reminds her, letting out a laugh, “I almost cried, but it actually wasn't that bad.”

“I love you.” Annabeth smiles, resting her head against Percy’s shoulder, and wraps her arms around her tighter.

They stand in the doorway for a while; taking it all in. Percy breaks the silence, asking her, “What time is it?”

Annabeth glances at her watch, pulling herself from Percy's arms, “6:30?”

“Okay,” Percy smiles, with a whisper of mischief, “What I need you to do is go put on the nicest dress you have here.” She grabs a small bag off the floor, “And I’m going to go change out of these sweatpants.”

“Where are we going?” Annabeth asks, looking at her with a hint of concern and amusement.

“Surprise.”

When Annabeth walks out of her room a few minutes later, Percy’s jaw drops. The dress is so simple, but so elegant, gold satin loosely skimming her body, flowing down to the floor. The neckline drapes delicately across her chest, accenting the soft curves. Percy thinks if she wore anything fancier, the universe might implode on itself from so much beauty in one place. “You’re stunning.”

She blushes, “Thanks.” Cherry red lipstick pops against her tan skin, mascara accenting her eyes. The rest of her face is bare; Percy sees the thin scar running across her cheek. It’s barely noticeable from a normal distance, so she rarely covers it. She's beautiful either way. Percy likes to see their scars sometimes — it reminds her of everything they've done to make it here.

Annabeth stands across from her in the elevator without saying a word. Her eyes trail down to admire Percy; she's seen variations on the same outfit many times before, but the way she looks still stuns Annabeth every time. Even a simple pairing — black slacks and a dress shirt, with a burgundy blazer — makes her not want to leave the building at all.

The tie is new. Annabeth makes it a point of focus, traces the silk down the middle of her chest with her eyes, red flowers perfectly matched to the rich red of her jacket.

As they start to make their way down the streets of Manhattan, she makes a mental note to bribe her roommate to find somewhere else to stay the night.

Her thoughts are interrupted only a few blocks later. Percy abruptly stops outside of a _very_ fancy restaurant, as Annabeth can surmise from the attire of the guests inside. To say she didn't expect _this_ would be putting it lightly. “I don't know how to tell you this, Percy, you can't just walk into a five star restaurant at dinnertime on a Saturday without a reservation.” Annabeth jokes as Percy holds the door for her.

Percy flashes a smile and cheeky wink to the host, fishing out a drachma from her pocket and slipping it to him. He smiles, tucking it into his shirt pocket, and ushers them to a quiet table in the back.

“What just happened?” She assumed Percy had made a reservation and just not told her, but her exchange with the host suggests otherwise.

“Okay,” Percy smooths the napkin across her lap, waiting until the waiter finishes filling their glasses with water before continuing, “So I was talking to one of the guys in my history class, and I may have mentioned wanting to take my _amazing_ girlfriend to a fancy restaurant back in the city, and he _just so happened_ to know a satyr…”

Annabeth lowers her voice, “ _That guy_ was a satyr?”

Percy chuckles. “What did you think was under all those curls?”

Annabeth rolls her eyes, and takes a moment to take in the beauty of the restaurant. It's not what she expected; no marble floors or sparkling chandeliers. The whole place is dimly lit, small shaded pendants descending from the ceiling, cascading a warm orange glow against the wooden paneled walls, intricately carved moulding separating them from the plush burgundy carpet; the color of wine.

The waiter takes a lighter to the tealights on the table, and looks at Percy. “Two glasses of Sauvignon Blanc.” Annabeth looks at Percy, skeptical. The waiter nods and departs. “Fancy restaurant, big city, we look nice enough and we're paying them,” Percy lists, shrugging. It's not unusual for Manhattan, especially somewhere nice. She’s been ordering wine at dinner with her mom for years. “Besides, it's about the _experience_. I know exactly what you're going to order and this happens to pair rather nicely with it.”

“You _continually_ amaze me.”

It’s probably the best date they’ve ever been on, from the incredible food to the beautiful architecture of the restaurant Annabeth spends half the time admiring; although it all pales in comparison to the fact that Percy planned it so carefully — down to the wine that went perfectly with the meal she _knew_ Annabeth would order. The buzz from their one glass of wine doesn’t even last through dinner, and she’s glad. She wants her wits to be sharp for tonight; to experience everything exactly as it is. It's been too long to have her mind clouded.

Percy slips the waiter her card before Annabeth can get a word in. “Don’t even try.”

“You don't have to do that.”

“I want to.” Percy's hand brushes hers, and Annabeth feels like a giddy teenager fawning over the slightest touch, the tiniest bit of an attention from a schoolgirl crush. It's nice to feel that way sometimes. She never got that chance with Percy — by the time she figured out she had a crush on her, it was much more than a crush. These kinds of moments make her feel better, like she hasn’t missed out on the innocence of young love. ( _She’s still young, and very much in love._ )

As they walk back, becoming one of the slow-strolling couples they hate, she hangs off Percy's side like they're glued together. “Anyone ever tell you, you really know how to spoil a girl?”

“You might've mentioned it once or twice.” Percy kisses her cheek, keeping her close, walking hand in hand in the brisk spring evening. Her jacket drapes over Annabeth's shoulders. She was too stubborn to either bring a jacket or ask Percy; despite that, Percy gave it to her — unprompted, but she knew. Annabeth owns one similar to it, but it looks so much different hanging off her, over her dress, than it does with dress pants. It makes her look almost vulnerable; and yet, still beautiful.

Annabeth can feel herself getting antsy, impatient to be alone with her. All she wants as they round the corner onto her street is to push Percy up against the hard brick and kiss her until the sun makes it way back into the sky. The thought brings heat to her face; she pushes it away. She‘s _allowed_ to miss her girlfriend. _It‘s okay to miss her in that way too_ , she tells herself.

There’s an unspoken pact between them as they enter the building, Annabeth waiting silently, lips pursed as Percy hands her ID to the security guard.

“She’s staying over,” she chimes in.

The woman glances at Annabeth, then back at Percy, who flashes the guard a crooked smile in response. Hesitating for only a second, she hands her a pass for overnight.

They call the elevator, and Percy laughs as soon as the doors close. “It hasn’t even been a year and she’s _so_ done with me.”

“Eh, ignorance is bliss,” Annabeth smiles, stepping closer to her as they ascend. “I missed you a lot.”

She frowns, “You say that like _I_ didn’t miss _you_.”

Annabeth drags her down the hall without a word, only letting go of her hand to open the door to her dorm. Grabbing her hand again, she pulls Percy toward her room with intense urgency. Her hand rests on the doorknob, and she feels Percy’s hand fall onto her shoulder.

“Please tell me your roommate is gone.”

Annabeth looks back at her. “I told her I’d do her English homework for a week if she stayed somewhere else this weekend.”

“Academic dishonesty? Who are you and what have you done with my girlfriend?”

They barely make it into Annabeth's room; the second the door closes, Percy has her pinned against the wall with a kiss, desperate to get that slinky gold dress off her. Percy’s blazer drops to the ground from its place over her shoulders, long forgotten and far too many clothes.

“I can’t believe you didn't tell me you were coming,” Annabeth manages between frenzied kisses, “I would've cleaned up.” She takes a glance around her room, not messy by any real definition of the word, but not neat by her standards.

“Annabeth, _you’re_ gorgeous, do you really think I care about that?” Percy steps back, taking in exactly how she looks tonight.

She trails her fingers across Percy’s waist, trying to beckon her closer; aching from the lack of contact. “Where did you even get the money for such a nice restaurant?”

Percy shrugs, “I've been saving up for a while; a little bit here and there.” That's a blatant lie. She'd been saving up every spare _cent_ since she first had the idea over the summer.

Annabeth doesn't pick up on it — or if she does, she doesn't acknowledge it — she softly responds, “You're too good to me.” She pulls Percy in by the collar with a smile, and kisses her again. Her fingers pick at the knot of Percy's tie, no luck getting it undone. “Why do you even own this stupid thing?”

“I look good!” (She _definitely_ does, Annabeth isn't protesting that, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s stopping her from tearing Percy's clothes off.) “And, well, I thought you could maybe… use it?”

It’s the first time Percy’s suggested something that bold. If she asked, Annabeth would hold her down, but never with anything but her own hands. Bold's a good look on Percy, she decides. She's not opposed to the idea, but the more she thinks about it… she’s curious about it herself. Making a decision, she runs a finger down the buttons of Percy’s shirt. “Clever, but… I have a better idea.”

“Which is?”

She twists the tie around her hand, pulling Percy in closer so she can whisper into her ear, “ _You_ could tie _me_ up.”

A lump settles in Percy’s throat.

Annabeth knows it’s hard for Percy to be anything but gentle with her — but it’s been weeks, and she’s not sure she wants that tonight. She loosens her grip, “I trust you, you know that.” She recognizes the look of hesitation on Percy’s face. “If you’re uncomfortable with it—”

“I mean, I really like the _idea_ of it. I’m just afraid I’ll hurt you — and I know I won’t, but…”

She doesn't make eye contact, looking at the floor with a heavy, “I know.”

“Do you want me to?” Percy asks again, tilting Annabeth’s chin up to look at her. Normally, she'd be looking down into a sea of blonde, but in heels? She has about an inch on Percy's 5'10", and it really does give her a power trip.

( _“You're already tall, what do you need three inch heels for?”_ Percy had asked her. _“I like it when you look up at me all flustered like that,”_ Annabeth replied.)

“Are you gonna make me beg for it?” It’s a throwaway comment, really. She expects Percy to bridge the gap between them without hesitation.

Instead, she just responds, “Maybe,” tracing her thumb along Annabeth's jaw.

Her response tumbles from her lips without a second thought. “I think you should.”

With that, their dynamic re-balances, Percy’s newfound confidence shining through. (Not that she wasn’t confident — just not always when it came to their relationship. They were both pretty fragile for a long time, and although it’s been better, she still gets worried about messing things up. It's something she's learned to live with. They both have.) She trails a teasing hand between the slit in Annabeth’s dress, and up her thigh. “I like this dress.”

“Are you about to tell me you’d like it a lot more if it were on the floor?”

She would, absolutely, but Percy’s resolve for teasing Annabeth is far greater than her own immediate needs. Her lips press against Annabeth’s neck, taking solace in the rhythmic thump of her heartbeat.

It makes her heart beat faster — it always does; her breathing hitches and she doesn't want to wait any longer. Expecting it to be easy to get the upper hand, as usual, she reaches her hands to the button of Percy’s slacks. “Nope.” Percy steps back, and loosens her tie. “I’m keeping my promise.”

Annabeth thinks it could quite possibly be the hottest thing she’s ever said, despite how the words sink into the pit of her stomach, knowing Percy could do this all night if she let her. The crazy part is; she thinks she might.

Percy's fingers slip under the thin strips of golden fabric, sliding them off her shoulders. “Turn around,” she whispers, almost a question.

She does. With a gentle touch, Percy guides the zipper down her back and the silky fabric slides off with ease as she kisses the side of her jaw. Annabeth's hand reaches back, grabbing her thigh with a sharp breath. “You're a menace,” she chuckles. Percy kneels down and helps her step out of the dress pooling around her feet, unbuckling the straps of her heels. “I miss being taller than you,” Annabeth adds, “It was funny when you were scared of me.”

“Either way, you could still kick my ass.” she smiles, picking up Annabeth's dress and walking the few feet across the room to her closet.

Annabeth shoots her a quizzical look, kicking her heels to the side.

“You don't want it to get wrinkled, do you?”

Little things like this make Annabeth feel so at ease; like she's home. It means the world to her that Percy cares enough to think about something so mundane. (If she were in Percy's shoes, she's not sure she'd have the willpower to do the same.) Although, it seems she's thoroughly enjoying watching Annabeth struggle, taking her sweet time zipping her dress back up on the hanger. She doesn't dare move, though.

Percy comes back to her, ( _she always does_ ), and takes a moment to look at her again, now that she’s back to seeing her from above. What she wears always amuses Percy — cute; delicate — nothing to compare to her fiery personality. Floral yellow lace strikes a bold contrast against her golden skin, still sun-kissed from the summer. She eyes what she’s wearing carefully, analyzing exactly how the opaque fabric falls on her body, trying to make it last (despite having long-since memorized every curve). “You’re so beautiful.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she smiles back.

Percy scoops Annabeth into her arms; she can’t help laughing as Percy drops her onto her bed into the pile of fluffy blankets, bed still unmade from morning. She slides off her flats and pants, leaving a heap of black garments next to the foot of the bed, and hops up.

“Sorry my room is such a mess.”

Percy shakes her head and scoffs playfully, climbing over her and straddling her waist. There's a few folded pairs of shorts and t-shirts on top of the blankets; she tosses them against the corner of the bed, far enough to be out of their way.

Annabeth rolls her eyes at Percy, “You better fold those back up.”

She laughs — she has the audacity to _laugh._ Annabeth pulls her down with a fistful of her shirt, and starts unbuttoning. Percy wastes little time in helping her, undoing the knot in the floral silk adorning her neck.

Annabeth bites her lip and pauses halfway down her shirt, watching intently as Percy maneuvers the tie into two loops like makeshift handcuffs. “Where did you learn how to do that?” It comes out low and breathy; she can’t hide how incredibly sexy she finds it.

“Um. _Piper_?” It’s the truth — but she’s not sure how to broach the topic.

Annabeth pauses, trying not to laugh, “You mean to tell me you asked one of my best friends how to tie me up? How does that even come up in conversation?” She asks, incredulous.

“I… may have walked in on her and Jason once?” And as embarrassing as _that_ was, it wasn’t nearly as embarrassing as asking Piper just exactly _how_ she may have tied that knot. Look — she’s not saying she bought it just for that, but it was at least _one_ of the reasons.

“Okay, gross,” she laughs, scrunching up her face. “Hurry up and take your shirt off so I can forget how much Piper knows about our sex life.”

“I think you’re forgetting who’s in control here.” Percy leans over her and twists a curl around her finger. Annabeth reaches for her shirt again. She laughs, loosely grabbing her wrists and pinning them above her head, still ever so gentle. “You told me what you want, _so let me_.” She’s uttered words of the same sentiment to her before, to little effect. Playing the long game with Annabeth was the easiest way to lose your pride, but Percy was too stubborn not to fall for it every time.

There’s something in the way Annabeth shifts that tells her this is different; the way her eyes dilate and her lips part slightly. “Okay,” she breathes, and keeps her hands exactly where they are.

Nimble fingers undo the last few buttons, and Percy sheds her shirt (most _definitely ~~not~~_ influenced by Annabeth). She blushes when she remembers what she's wearing, because it's somewhat out of her comfort zone. Despite how much she loved it when Annabeth wore stuff like this, she hardly did herself. It's simple compared to Annabeth's all-lace number, but different from the plain pieces she usually wore: soft baby blue mesh cut low on her chest, trimmed with a line of lace.

While Annabeth liked wearing cute things for herself, she never saw anything inherently sexy about it, nor did she grasp an understanding of why Percy liked it — until now. Because Percy looks like a gift from the gods themselves ( _and, screw it, she may as well be_ ). She takes in a sharp breath of air, and exhales a single word: “ _Oh_.”

“You like this?”

“I like it when you wear pretty things.” She did. Percy wasn’t incredibly girly — neither of them were — nor did their upbringing allow for skirts or dresses, not when there were battles to be won (and it still feels dangerous, even now).

Now that she was in college, and an _adult_ , she found an admiration of some of the finer things — alongside her jeans and plain shirts, there were now blazers, dresses, and skirts. It made her look put-together, and it made people take her more seriously. Percy had followed suit, her closet still filled with ripped jeans and vintage tees, but with a few polished pieces for special occasions — blazers (Annabeth was _sure_ she stole one of hers, though she was never able to prove it with any concrete evidence) and slacks, mostly. She even owned a dress or two, and _oh_ , how Annabeth loved it when she wore them.

Meanwhile, Annabeth's brain has stopped making coherent comments — all she can think about is how stunning she looks. “Pretty things for a pretty girl,” she muses, taking pride in how it makes Percy blush.

Unsure what to say, Percy dives back into their heated encounter, running a hand up Annabeth’s stomach; kissing a trail along the sharp line of her collarbone, watching as she squirms under the touch. With that, she sits back up. “Hands,” she says, and Annabeth sits up too, extends her arms towards her with a teasing grin. “Where do you want me to—”

She looks back, scanning her surroundings, “Over the bedpost? If I lift my arms up I can still get loose. Does that make you feel better?”

“Yeah. Okay.” Grabbing the tie, Percy guides her right hand through the first loop, then, excruciatingly slow, runs her hands down the length of Annabeth’s arms from shoulder to wrist as she leans over her, pushing her arms up and back. She passes the tie behind the bedpost, and pulls Annabeth’s other hand through, using the knot at the middle to pull it snug around her wrists. “You okay?”

She lifts her arms up — difficult but not impossible to get them over the wooden post — and back down — and offers a nod.

“Just let me know.”

“Always.” In response, Percy adjusts her stance over Annabeth, moving down to bracket her legs around her hips, and slips a thumb under the side of her underwear. There's no intention of giving her anything else behind it, and Annabeth knows it. “Now can you… _please_ hurry up?” She lets out a calculated, desperate sigh, clearly for show.

Begging isn’t going to work this time. She has Annabeth right where she wants her and knows she has the upper hand now. “Not yet…” Percy runs a finger down her cheek, and Annabeth marvels at how gentle she is, even when her words are laced with such teasing. She kisses down her neck, soft heat falling to focus on her clavicle, something they both know will leave a mark if she continues.

Annabeth won’t deny it feels good — but she doesn’t exactly want it on display to the entire campus. “Percy,” she breathes, a sigh of her name, and a warning, "Nowhere visible."

So Percy trails her attention down to the space just below where her ribs end, speaking against her skin, “How about here?”

She bites back a response she knows will just make Percy drag this out longer. Percy continues kissing her way down her body; so innately in tune with every inch. Calculated, smooth movements slide down closer and closer to what she wants — Percy grazes her teeth across the top of her thigh before sealing her lips to the spot — but not quite.

“I’m going to kill you,” she manages, almost laughing, “I swear, I will.”

“I’d like to see you try, Wise Girl.” Percy laughs, and it reverberates through her body.

She's almost positive this is going to be the thing that breaks her (and how lucky she is for it). Countless near-death experiences, and yet the only thing to make her feel so alive is _her_. It’s almost torturous, the heat of Percy’s breath pricking her skin, doing everything but what she wants. Her heart is beating at a pace she's never seen outside of battle, but this is a far cry from the precise control she has in combat; no, she feels helpless to her own body. As Percy makes her way back up her stomach, she realizes… it’s _refreshing_. The feeling of letting go — giving up control — it’s not easy. Getting things done her way was what she prided herself on for so long: if she was in control, it couldn’t come crashing down on her. This control, though… it’s different. This is the person she trusts more than herself; and there’s something beautiful about showing that trust.

Percy looks into her eyes, jet-black locks falling down from her face. A hand drifts up to Annabeth's face, tucking her hair behind her ear. “You okay?”

The pounding in her chest grows quieter. “Yeah, just need a second to breathe.”

“Do you want me to stop?” Mischief drips from her voice; Her free hand slips down to Annabeth's thigh, tracing a line up from her knee.

Seeking any kind of relief from the torturous contact, her muscles tense and her knee jerks up. Percy takes the opportunity to grind down on her leg. Again, Annabeth says nothing in response, too proud to let her have the satisfaction. Yet Percy stopping is the _last_ thing she wants. “I _need_ you to do something, Percy, I'm losing my damn mind.”

 _That’s the goal._ “I think you can wait a little while longer.”

Percy's never heard her quite this vocal — she was _loud_ , but usually there weren't this many words involved — and the desperation in her voice just makes her want to continue this waiting game forever. She's getting pretty desperate herself, for what it's worth. It's far from new, but she still finds remnants of that first time; the fear in her desire, and the complete trust, being able to lose herself while finding so much of Annabeth she'd never known before, so emotionally vulnerable and trusting.

No matter how hard she tries, Annabeth can't bring herself to speak up. She most certainly can _not_ wait much longer, not when desire and excitement is coursing through her whole body; white heat in her veins. But she's learning quickly just how easily Percy gets off on this — a fact she'd be hesitant to admit turns _her_ on more than she thought possible — and thinks she might just let her do this forever. So she doesn't say a word as Percy's hands slide the yellow lace down her thighs; only a quiet whimper escaping her mouth.

“Annabeth,” Percy leans in close, lips brushing against her ear as she whispers her name, taking in the scent of her curls. “Tell me what you want.”

“I—” _Gods_ , she can't even speak. “Anything.” _Everything._

Percy shifts backwards, running her hand around the inside of the very top of her leg, and kissing the dip of her hip, the elastic indent still branding her skin. Her lips slowly trace the curve of her thigh, round and supple, in a stream of kisses.

“Percy.” She’ll admit to joking in frustration other times that Percy’s better off using her mouth for things other than talking. Right now, though, she feels so… connected to her — and she doesn’t want to break the spell; wants to kiss her for hours and memorize the exact position of every freckle dotting her face. Percy looks up at her, confused. “I want to see you.” It’s a wonder how sappy she can get at times like this — she would’ve never thought herself the type — but _Percy_ …

“…You’re a dork.”

“ _Seaweed Brain_ ,” she laughs in response.

She readjusts the way she's leaning over Annabeth, now looking down directly into her eyes, her pupils dilated to the point where only a small sliver of grey remains. Percy connects their lips; rough, but so kind, burying one hand in her curls. Her other hand runs over her breast, pausing for a moment to feel her heartbeat. She feels her way down the valley of her slender waist, and walks her fingers down the line of her hipbone, getting closer and closer to giving her the release she needs.

“Percy, I’m begging you, please.” She never thought such words would leave her mouth — but she isn’t even thinking — they tumble from her lips, a needy whine, completely unrestrained.

The first light brush of her fingertip almost makes Annabeth jump. Percy laughs, a warm buzz against her neck. There’s something so incredibly intimate in looking Annabeth in the eyes while her hand works to give her what she’s been waiting for: her body so willingly vulnerable, so connected to Percy.

Percy cradles the side of her face, peppering kisses on her forehead and cheek. Annabeth wishes she could do the same — reach out and touch her, feel the softness of her skin against her fingertips — but the intensity of the structure struck between them is too intoxicating to disobey. So she beckons Percy to her with a brush of her lips against her freckled face, the only signal she can give inbetween the hushed whimpers that escape her mouth.

She plays her like an instrument she’s carefully studied all her life (and in a way, she has, learned exactly how she works, how to pluck each string, each perfectly tuned in to every frequency.) Her fingertips are rough, calloused from years of battle, but still so soft and gentle, the lightest touch; not enough for Annabeth.

“Don’t stop, please.” Because, she might, and Annabeth is completely at her mercy if she does.

“Annabeth,” Percy sighs her name with little reason; to recognize her presence and feel this moment with her, the heat in her own body growing stronger. She presses against Annabeth’s leg harder, unable to ignore it.

“Please, please, please, don’t stop.” She sounds so desperate, her attempt at begging punctuated with gasps, the words tumbling from her mouth as a whisper. Percy strikes a chord and Annabeth feels herself fall apart with such an intensity that her ears start to ring. The world falls silent around them; there’s only this moment. Head spinning, she breathes, in, and out, focusing on the rapid pulsing of her heartbeat coursing through every part of her body. It takes a minute for the buzzing to retreat from her mind; until she can finally think again. She barely processes Percy untying her; her kisses lingering on the insides of her wrists.

Percy’s voice rings clear and quiet, looking down at her from above with an inquisitive, “Was that okay?”

Yes. _No_ — okay doesn’t even begin to describe it. “I think I blacked out for a second. But in a good way.”

“I— are _you_ okay?” Percy brushes her thumb under her eyes, sweeping away the small black flecks of mascara that speckle her skin.

“Yeah, I can’t,” she laughs, taking shallow breaths through a parted grin, “I don’t think I can move.”

“So... _good_?”

She doesn’t have the willpower to get out a coherent thought. It would be hard to describe it even if she did; so _breathtaking, ethereal, connected; so—_ “ _So_ good, Percy, I—” The words simply aren’t there. She didn't expect it to be so… tender. Honestly, it's the most connected she's ever felt to her.

“You have no idea what you do to me, Chase.”

Annabeth chuckles, mumbling, “Oh, I do. You're _dripping_ right now.”

Percy can’t stop the blush from rising to her face, despite knowing she’s right. She swings her leg over her and climbs off the bed, starting to rustle through her drawer for a packet of makeup wipes. Knowing that the stains of Annabeth’s lipstick adorn her face, she drags one across her skin, turning it pink. She settles back up on the bed, cross-legged, looking over her. “Here, close your eyes. Don’t want you to fall asleep with your makeup on.”

The thought melts Annabeth’s heart. “I love you,” she says, bringing her hand to Percy’s thigh.

Percy smiles, scooping her up into her arms with an uproarious laugh, “I love you more.”

Annabeth isn't that kind of girl — she isn't going to say ' _no, I love you more_ '. She loves Percy with her entire self, but Percy knows that, and would never let her win if she got into that back and forth (or let her live it down); and she's still _so_ exhausted, her arms limp around Percy's shoulders. “I know.” It’s strikingly intimate — Annabeth feels so vulnerable, sitting almost naked in her arms.

The pile of clean laundry sits forgotten in the corner. Percy reaches an arm back, blindly grasping at the fabric and pulling back a huge t-shirt. Her hands meet behind Annabeth's back, delicately undoing her bra and sliding it off her shoulders. She pulls the shirt over her head, stopping to free her curls from the neckline, and lifts her again, setting her back down into the pile of pillows. Annabeth whispers something incoherent, sleep begging to claim her.

“Goodnight.”

* * *

“Hey there, beautiful.” Percy wakes up to Annabeth’s hands on her back, limbs so twisted together they may as well be one.

Annabeth's hands trail down her waist, fingers pushing slightly against the hem of her underwear, mumbling sleepily, “I can’t believe I didn’t get to take those off you.”

“Do you still want to?” She offers.

Annabeth laughs, “It’s no fun if I know.”

“I’ll have to surprise you some other time, then.”

“Okay, but…” Annabeth sits up, leaning over her, and glides a hand over her chest through the fabric of her shirt. “I kind of owe you, don’t I?” 

“Owe me?”

She pouts. “You didn’t— I fell asleep.” _Because you’re way too damn good at that._

 _Oh._ “No, I… I did.”

“Getting yourself off doesn’t count,” she scoffs.

“I… didn’t?” She’s not quite sure why it’s so embarrassing. Yeah, she’s _easy_ , she's always known that, but… she was supposed to be the one in control, and damn, did it feel good to be (evidently more than she expected).

Annabeth tilts her head, puzzled. “But I didn’t do any—” The idea hits her; she leans in close, a devilish smile on her face as she pushes Percy’s hair back behind her ear, running her thumb down her cheek. Her tone switches completely; so does her demeanor. “Did you seriously get off from just watching me?”

It’s such a disparate dynamic to last night. Annabeth’s so close, her eyes narrowed, looming over her. “Hearing you beg like that was really hot,” she mumbles, the words blurring together as blood rushes to her head. “You can’t do this to me at the crack of dawn on a _Sunday_ , Annabeth, it’s not _fair_.”

She lets out a laugh wrapped in a grin from ear to ear, collapsing onto Percy’s chest lazily. “I can’t believe I made you a morning person.”

By instinct, Percy wraps her hand around Annabeth’s back. “Nah, just a _you_ person.”

“That’s so cheesy,” she groans, rolling out of her grasp and sliding off the bed.

“Oh, come on, it wasn't _that_ bad,” Percy whines, chasing after her and wrapping her in a hug from behind before she has a chance to reach the door. “Don’t leave yet,” she sighs, the cadence of her voice desperate; vulnerable.

Annabeth turns to face her. “I’m making us breakfast.” She grabs her hand, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“…Okay.”

“We’re doing good,” Annabeth reassures her, recognizing the reluctance in her voice.

”Better than I expected.” It’s taken a lot of time, and more therapy than she’d hoped, but they’re both so much better; far above what she ever believed they could be. Not just okay, but _good_. Not perfect — who could ever be? — she can sleep alone (though admittedly she’d always choose Annabeth if given the option) and her panic attacks are much less frequent. Most importantly, she knows how to deal with negative emotions when they do spring up. She reminds herself; _this is being alive_.

“I think we’ll be okay.” For the first time, Annabeth believes it. “C'mon. We have the whole day to ourselves.”


End file.
